


Mustache Heart

by mentallymrswinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Reader-Insert, imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 17:28:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10168100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mentallymrswinchester/pseuds/mentallymrswinchester
Summary: It's Valentine's Day, and the Reader decides that it doesn't have to be a lonely endeavor.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something I brought over from my tumblr blog, mentallymrswinchester. Am I doing this AO3 thing right? I have no idea.

You are in love. 

Or, at least that’s what Sam concluded after Dean walked out of the kitchen in the bunker, almost tripping over his tattered bathrobe in the process. 

He had hid his smile behind his coffee mug, and as Dean disappeared around the corner, mumbling profanities under his breath, Sam’s hazel eyes flashed with realization. 

“You’re in love with him,” he told you, nothing but certainty present in his voice. 

You scoffed, a defensive comment denying your feelings resting on the tip of your tongue, but Sam’s chuckle made you forget it. 

“You were staring at him like you were deciding whether or not to jump on him right then and there-”

“I was not-” Sam’s eyebrows jumped up his forehead, and the words died in your throat. 

“Okay, maybe I was lying just a bit. I’m pretty sure you’d’ve written him a love sonnet, and then jumped on him.”

You glared at Sam, but didn’t argue. You had been looking at Dean the way he just described for awhile; you could barely even remember what it was like to look at him and not have your stomach jump into your chest. 

“Was it that obvious?”

Sam shrugged, but grinned again, and you sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. 

“You’re not going to give me crap for this, are you?” you asked, and Sam leaned forward in his seat at the table. You crossed your arms opposite him, and peered at him questioningly. 

“I know personally how hard it is to find love when you’re a hunter,” he said finally, genuinely, and you were shocked. 

“Is this the ‘hold tightly onto this love thing and never let go’ spiel? Because I don’t think I need to hear it.”

“It doesn’t have to be. But you should. Hold tightly, I mean.” 

“You know, Sam, I think I’m just gonna-”

“Y/N.” He cut you off, swift and sharp, and you decided to listen, if only for a moment. 

“You should tell him how you feel. I know you don’t really care about my opinion on this, but I’m gonna give it to you anyway. Tell him you love him. Because if you don’t, and something happens, which is likely, especially with us, it’s going to hurt more than the outcome now.”

The sincerity in his eyes almost overwhelmed you, and you had to wait a moment to find the right words to say.

“As beautiful as that was, I’m not really the type of person to just… say something like that, right out,” you told him, and he rolled his eyes. 

“Y/N, were talking about admitting your feelings to the king of not ‘saying things like that, right out.” 

“I guess you’re right,” you mumbled, playing with a loose thread on the end of your sweater. 

“And I don’t know, sometimes the way Dean looks at you, you’d think…”

Sam’s words made your heart skip a beat, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re lying,” you whispered as a little seed of hope planted itself into your heart.

“Hey, you don’t have to listen to me,” he said, pushing his chair out and standing up. “I was just suggesting something that could help you out a little.” 

He carried himself halfway out of the kitchen before he turned back to you and said, “This Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to end with you lonely, you know.” 

***

“Hey,” you said, looking up from your book and glancing at Dean as he pounded down the stairs, grocery bags dangling from his fingers. He smiled at you, and you exhaled harshly as the butterflies began to flap their wings excitedly against the inside of your stomach. 

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, making a beeline to the kitchen, and you followed. 

“Was it like you thought it’d be?” you questioned, leaning against the counter as Dean set the bags on top of it.

“Like Valentine’s Day got sick and threw up all over the damn place? Yes,” he answered, and you chuckled. “But I did get you these.” He dug through one of the bags and produced a small box of something he chucked at you before turning to open the refrigerator. 

You looked at the label-and laughed.

“Sweethearts,” you read, opening the top and peering inside. “The classic Valentine’s Day gift.”

“Count on me to be classic,” he said. 

You reached in and took a heart out. “Hmm. I got a mustache.” 

“They’re putting mustaches on those things now?” he asked, a hint of disgust in his voice, and you nodded. 

“They sure are… ‘cutie pie’.” You smiled as Dean walked to you, taking the box from your hands and pulling one out as well. 

“Thank you… ‘my love’.” His eyes scanned the heart, and he rolled his eyes and tossed it into his mouth. “God, the green ones taste disgusting.” 

“Don’t worry, Dean,” you responded, wiggling a yellow one in front of his face. “’Be happy’.”

“Don’t forget to ‘call me’, baby.” Dean winked at you, setting a purple one into your palm, and you dug out one more from the box. 

“’Kiss me’,” you said brightly, before the words registered in your brain, and five seconds went by with complete silence from the man opposite you. 

You looked up at him hesitantly, and you opened your mouth to laugh, to mutter a ‘just kidding!”, but Dean’s hand reached up to your face and the pad of his thumb brushed your jaw, and you swore you would melt as his lips brushed against yours. 

He tasted like the Sweethearts you two were poking fun at, and you remembered Sam’s words from earlier. 

This Valentine’s Day doesn’t have to end with you lonely.

You wound your arms around Dean’s neck, eyes pressed closed, your lips and his slotted together like matching puzzle pieces. You had imagined this before, but you hummed with a sort of electricity you’d never fathomed and you couldn’t imagine why you ever wasted your time with anyone else.

“And I thought this year’s Unattached Drifter Christmas was going pretty well without this,” he muttered, drawing away slightly, his lips still close enough to touch yours.

“Dean?” you asked, gently nudging his nose with yours, eyes still shut.

“Hmm?”

“I love you,” you breathed. “But I understand if you don’t-”

Dean’s chuckle cut you off, and he cupped your face in his hands.

“There’s a Sweetheart in that box that says that exact same thing, but I’m not sure I want to dig around to find it for you just yet when I could be doing this,” he said, pulling you close once more, and you sent a silent thank you to Sam, wherever he was.


End file.
